Just As Angels Do
by LSMunch
Summary: Sequel to The Ways of a Grieving Soul. Munch as an angel. Chp 6 up.
1. John

Disclaimer: Not mine. And if it was, Munch would be alive and kicking, I swear.

A/N: Sequel to Ways of a Grieving Soul.

I watch them laugh at a tension easing joke, trying to lighten the mood from a heavy case. I knew the feeling, but usually I was the one who cracked the joke, made everyone ease up. I missed it and knew they did too. Their smiles at the joke didn't quite reach their eyes, didn't quite seem as happy. I knew that look, the one that says that you know too much, seen too much. It's the look I used to see every morning in the mirror and every night when I came home, if I made it home.

They don't use mirrors much here in Heaven. You don't really care about how you look, it doesn't matter, you're dead. I often visit them, here at work, doing what I used to do, doing what, in part, killed me. I don't care about that though. I miss them, miss this place. The feel of coming in every day knowing that today you're going to help catch another bad guy, another rapist, another pedophile, only to try again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that until they blur into years of it.

Of course, I don't have to know that feeling anymore, but I feel like I should remember it, remember it so that when I visit them, I can know their pain, know what makes their humor so morbid, their smiles so dim, their thoughts so depressing at times. I feel like I have to remember for them, so that when they get here and start to forget about what they did on Earth, I can remind them about the death and sadness so that they can remember and help.

I found out that angels really do exist, that there really are Guardian Angels and that after you're around here for awhile and still remember what it's like on Earth, they promote you. I want to help them still and it's about the only thing I can do that keeps my sanity around here, not that I really need it. Only bad thing about it is that they said I might not be able to wear such dark clothes anymore. Small price to pay.

I visited some of my family the other day, down on Earth. Some of my cousins, my brother, trying to see how they're doing. Lennie showed up here the other day. It was a nice little reunion, but considering where we were, I'd rather it be him greeting me instead of the other way around. He's settled in real nice around here, but I don't think he's forgotten either. Saw him going down to the 2-7 and knew he was checking up on his partner. I'd done the same thing more times than I care to count.

I've even visited Elliot and his family. Watched them eat dinner, with him at the table for the duration of the meal, for once. Watched his kids play and do their homework and little Elizabeth caused me to leave.

If there's one thing I know about when you die and getting to Heaven, anything you see back on Earth that relates too much to what caused your death, you go back because for a long time, you can't stand the pain of it.Yes, you still feel pain, even in death because you still have your soul and that's what hurts. Your being.

Anyway, I visit them a lot. I watch my replacement, Jacob Keifer, try to fit in. Try to fill shoes that I don't think he ever will. Fin resented him at first, but he's doing better. He's finally realized that it wasn't Jacob's fault that the Brass sent him here, to be Fin's partner. Wasn't Jacob's fault that I died.

Sometimes, I catch Olivia or Elliot looking over at my old desk, and I know it's not because they want to talk to Jacob. I never knew that they cared so much, never knew I'd be this missed. Sure, I wondered, but I never thought that their lives would be this changed because I was gone. Guess the Big Guy upstairs, as we up in Heaven fondly call him, had other plans in mind.

I knew I'd never go to Hell when I died, considering Jews don't believe in Hell, only Heaven, which is a sweet deal. I just never thought I'd be welcomed with such open arms. Never thought that I'd believe in angels or God or Guardian Angels. Guess my past told me that their couldn't be such things, especially since I'd been left out in the cold all these years, with no one to help me really but myself. Guess dying changes everything.


	2. Elliot

It hasn't been quite the same without him around, bringing a little light to our dark world with his quirky comments. Sure, at the time I found it annoying, but now... now I realized what it was exactly. It was his way. His way of expressing his grief, I guess. He just channeled it into something we could benefit from. Looking back, I realize just how much it meant to us, to me. He was trying to do something, and it worked, despite all the times we yelled at him to shut up.

I remember yelling at him once for putting the lid back on the coffee can even though there was nothing left in the canister. I was frustrated with the case we were breaking our backs over and I just snapped at something he did all the time. I know he never held me to it, but I don't think I ever found another closed, empty coffee can. It seems so silly now, but at the time...

I'd finally gotten back into the swing of things, so to speak. I could look at his desk without immediately getting off track. I was able to hear a joke without immediately going back to some joke he'd made at one point or another. I was getting back to normal.

Then the oddest thing happened to me the other day while working late. I was sitting at my desk, the only one left in the office, trying to make sense of some file that I couldn't seem to read quite right. The words seemed to blur together, causing me to read the same few words more than once. Looking up and rubbing my eyes, I swear I saw him standing there, this look in his eyes that told me he'd been there, and I know he had.

Rubbing my eyes again, I looked to where I had seen him. He was still there, leaning against Cragen's door, just as I remembered him. Then, right before me, I watched as he walked towards the stairs and walked up to the crib, one hand on the rail, his gaze set forward, towards the sky. Towards Heaven, I'm sure of it.

As soon as he was out of sight, I went quietly and slowly up to the bunks. He wasn't there. Going back downstairs, smiling to myself knowing that he was indeed watching over us, just as angels do.

A/N: If you couldn't figure it out... that was Elliot.


	3. Olivia

Every time I glance over to his desk, I feel a little pang of hurt somewhere deep inside me. It's like every time I see a rapist get off. I always think of my mother. I know it's stupid, but I can't help thinking on my mother every time we see a rapist go home, with no jail time.

He was always good about that. Even pulled stuff I couldn't on her case. When he found out, he felt so bad about the comment he had made about my not putting any information about my father. I know he didn't mean it, but then he went and pulled those files he knew I couldn't. He was so supportive, so helpful even though I'd lived with the fact far longer than I'd known him. All he wanted was to help me, but he never treated me like some victim, always as a fellow cop. And I loved him for it.

A couple weeks ago, we were working this case, this one with a little girl. Her mother abused her, and had a tendency to throw things. And all I could think about for the longest time was that story he had told me about his neighbor. When that other little girl died, I thought he'd lost it finally. And her funeral...

Cragen was asking me and Elliot some questions about how the case was going and as we were leaving his office, I swear I saw him. I blinked, sure that the week of late nights was playing with my head. I stopped and stared at his old desk, with him leaning against it, his eyes looking the same as when he had told me about his neighbor. Elliot stopped and turned to me, asking what I was looking at. Shaking my head, I told him nothing, but he knew better somehow. I think he knew exactly what I had seen from the look on his face as we continued to our desks.

It reassured me, in a way, seeing him there, casually leaning against his desk. How I wished he were real and not some ghost. When everyone had gone home for the night, I sat and stared at the spot where I was sure he had been that morning. I sat and allowed myself to cry a little, the first time since his funeral.

I was glad to see him that day. It let me know he was doing good, wherever he was. I had this brief image of him standing on a stage, making jokes to an audience and had to let myself laugh. He was doing okay as an angel, for what else could a man like him be?

A/N: For you slow ones out there, this was Olivia.


	4. Fin

I know this sounds horrible, but I'm almost a little glad that he died. Not because I didn't like him, on the contrary, he was a great guy. A little quirky in ways, but he was a good cop. A damn good cop and a good partner and a pretty good friend, too, if I ever needed one. The only solace I can find in his death is the fact that he doesn't have to bear this pain anymore, this pain we all carry inside us, especially in SVU.

He didn't really let it show, but I could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice, the disgust he carried for the crimes we dealt with. But he shouldered it, just like the rest of us, despite all the years he spent down in Homicide and all the pain he endured. We all knew there were some things in his past that were especially hard for him to handle, but he did fine. The only time I ever saw him break down was at her funeral. That little girl's funeral. Up until then, and even afterwards, he was fine, but that day...

I remember when we arrested this Seth guy. Funniest thing. We let him go down to Virginia to study under some congressman or something and then arrest him so we can get his DNA. We were taking him out of a holding cell and the guy complains about taking his DNA and he says right back, "Yeah, well, write to your congressman." Not only was it funny in the situation, but the deliverance of that simple comment made it even funnier.

I miss that, as much as I complained about it. I thought I was going nuts the other day when I saw him sitting across from me at Jacob's desk, his old one. He had one of those smart ass smirks on his face, like he was about to crack some joke any second. I smiled to myself and shook my head as I continued my work. Later, when I looked back up, he was still sitting there and my smile faded. He got up and I watched as he walked over to the lockers, tracing his hand over his old one.

Suddenly, he banged his fist against it, though no sound came from it. He walked quickly up to the crib and I knew that I probably wasn't going to see him again, but it comforted me, knowing. Knowing he still cared and still had my back, even in death. He still had my back.


	5. Cragen

I often find myself looking at his desk, catching my tongue as I go to say his name. It still hurts that he's gone, even though it's been almost a year. Fin's finally settled in with Keifer, though it took him a good while before he could. It was like when Logan couldn't get along with Briscoe for a while after Cerreta was shot. Logan still keeps in touch with Cerreta, I think, and Greevey's wife, too.

I remember when he caught Sarah Logan's case and when she was killed...I offered him some time off, but he denied it, saying, thanks, but I don't think I need it. That was one that shook him up. The other one was when he got the confession out of that little girl's mother and when I told him he'd done a good job, he didn't say anything, just walked by. At her funeral, I finally understood why and I could take a guess as to what happened on the roof when Olivia went after him. He told her. And I'm glad he did.

He always was so guarded, hardly letting in as to his past. I remember talking with him during a case we had with a piano teacher molesting his students. He volunteered to watch all those tapes, knowing full well what it would be like. But he knew that Elliot couldn't, Olivia couldn't and Jeffries couldn't. He selflessly did it, saving his colleagues the extreme heartache he knew it would cause them.

I remember him telling me he didn't need "this." Saying he'd do a better job of quitting this time around. What he said was true. Homicide was easier. You don't have to deal with live victims, just photographs of broken bodies. It was easier back when I was in Homicide. You didn't get attached.

The other day, I was working in my office, only a couple of others working still. Getting up to refill my coffee cup, I saw him. Standing in my doorway, as if waiting for orders. I stopped in my tracks, my mouth opening a little at the shock of seeing him. I didn't get it, and then I understood. Speaking aloud, I asked, to one in particular, "This isn't like the whole Christmas Carol thing, is it?"

He laughed, but I couldn't hear him. Waving his arm, he indicated that I go through the door. I did so and when I reached the coffee pot, he was standing behind me. I stood for a moment, looking at him and watched as he pointed at one of his desk drawers and then gave one of his reassuring smiles before turning and walking out the squad room doors as someone came in, though no one seemed to notice him save I.

Smiling, I promised myself to check that desk drawer first thing tomorrow morning. As I walked back to my office, I felt firmly reassured by his presence, the small smile he had given me. He was still watching out for us and it pleased me that even in death, he was doing a job he had never failed to do in life. Being an angel.


	6. Jacob

A/N: Shoudl I write another chapter? Or should I leave it like this? Keep in mind, jsut because you suggest another chapter doesn't mean I'll write it... soon, that is. You never know when an Alex muse will hit...

Every day when I come into work, I feel them all look at me and I know they don't hate me, but I know they compare me to him. Whether they mean to or not. I can understand it, sure. It still hurts.

Sometimes they talk about him, say things that he used to do or some joke he'd told. Little things really, but it shows me how much he was and how much he meant to them. I feel like I'm standing in clown shoes, in the aspect that they're so big. I try as hard as I can, but I know I'll never live up to what he was. I don't mind that, it just gets frustrating sometimes that they can't accept me the way I am.

A week or so ago, we were all working none stop on this child molester case. I had gone up to the crib to take my thirty and when I woke up, there was someone sitting on a chair. From pictures I'd seen, I knew it was him, but I couldn't understand why I was seeing him if he was dead.

Well I must have looked confused as hell because he nodded over to the nearby table and stood, giving me a little smile before leaving the room. Standing, I approached the table, seeing a small piece of paper on it's surface. Picking it up, I read, "Don't try to fill in my shoes. Just make sure yours fit."

I read it over several times before slipping it into my pocket and going downstairs, feeling considerably better. He really was as cool as they said and I felt blessed to have received something from him. I still have that piece of paper, sitting on my desk actually. Fin asked me about it and all I could say was, "A little birdie gave it to me."

The look in my eyes must have told him all he needed to know because he smiled and I think that was one of our best days. All because of this man I had never met in life, only as an angel.


End file.
